


Tooth and Nail

by Donotquestionme



Series: Strange Magic Gift Fics and Out of Continuity Drabbles [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, blood tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donotquestionme/pseuds/Donotquestionme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of gift fic to thatchickwiththeheadphones based on a set of drawings she did.</p><p>Marianne and Bog get attacked by a snake and Bog gets a bit carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The snake came out of nowhere.

Marianne and Bog had been out walking through the Dark Forest when suddenly a blur of red, yellow, and black burst from the bushes.

Before either could react, it grabbed Bog in its mouth, teeth crunching into his exoskeleton. The force of the impact knocked his staff clean out of his hands. In an instant, the snake had coiled itself tightly around Bog.

“Maria—!” His cry was cut off as the snake constricted around him, crushing the air from his lungs.

“Bog!” Marianne yelled.

With a loud battle cry, she drew her sword and charged the scaly creature. She drove her sword into the side of it, but its scales were tough and her sword might as well have been a thorn to it.

Still it was plenty enough to get the snake’s attention.

It hissed sharply and released Bog from its jaws, but not its vice-like grip. It whipped its head around so quickly it made Marianne falter.  She barely had time to dodge as it lunged for her.

Bog struggled against the snake’s hold on him. Every breath he let out, the snake constricted even further, to the point he could barely even get small gulps of air. He could feel his armor cracking and straining under the pressure. It wouldn’t be able to last much longer without splitting.

Still, his thoughts were on Marianne.

His armor was hard to penetrate. The snake’s teeth had trouble finding purchase. Marianne’s skin was soft and delicate. The snake would tear through it like tissue and, once the hooked fangs were in her…

The image of Marianne’s flesh torn away by rows of recurved teeth flashed in his mind.

He struggled desperately as he saw Marianne dodge another strike, but only barely.  It was no use. Everything below his neck was wrapped up so tight he couldn’t move an inch. The pressure crushing in on him was becoming unbearable. He couldn’t cry out to her. He couldn’t breathe.  Blood was pounding in his ears.

Just then, as Marianne made to dodge another attack, her foot hit a rock behind her and she stumbled for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for the snake to take advantage of.

Marianne just managed to raise her sword in time to catch the side of it under the first set of hooked fangs, holding snakes head back, away from her, but it still knocked her to the ground. She braced her hand against the flat side of her sword for support, but the beast was so much larger than her. It would soon overpower the small fairy.

It snapped and hissed, teeth just inches from Marianne’s face. Bog heard her let out a sharp, shrill cry of genuine fear.

The edges of Bog’s vision seemed to fuzz and he saw red.

Seemingly without his permission, his mouth opened wide and he drove his own sharp fangs into the snakes hide in a ferocious bite.

The snake hissed and reared back away from Marianne, knocking her sword away from her as it did.

Bog pulled his head back, teeth tearing out a chunk of the snake’s flesh.  It writhed in pain, loosening its grip enough for Bog to move a bit. His arms were still firmly pinned to his sides, but his feet were free enough for him to lash out with them, dragging his clawed toes across the coils holding him.

Immediately, the snake uncoiled itself from around him and tried to make a break for it but, the instant Bog was free, he lunged for the snake’s throat, tackling it to the ground and sinking his teeth into the underside of its neck.

His claws and teeth tore through flesh and sinew. Blood gushed out of his prey’s wounds coating his arms and face.

Oh _Gods_ why did he ever bother with that _stupid_ staff when this was so much easier? So much _better?_  

The smell and taste of blood fueled the red haze that consumed his thoughts.

There was something so freeing about it. Letting his claws and teeth do what they were meant to: rip, tear, shred, and dismember.

The snake thrashed about, now having given up on the prospect of a meal and now just desperately trying to escape with its life, but Bog was stronger than it. With a thrill, Bog realized it was going to die in his grasp. The thought only egged him on.

He would kill it. He’d tear its throat out. Make it regret, in the last fleeting moments of its miserable life, having ever tried to hurt him, to hurt—

_Marianne._

The thought of her cut through the red haze like a cold blade and Bog hesitated for just a moment in his onslaught.

The snake seized the opportunity and finally managed to throw Bog off of itself and quickly disappear into the underbrush.

Bog snarled fiercely after it, then turned his attention to Marianne, who was still on the ground where the snake had pinned her, propped up on one elbow.

Her eyes were wide with fear, but she seemed unharmed.

“Marianne, are you--” Bog began, reaching a hand out to her.

She flinched back.

Bog felt as though he’d been doused in cold water.

It wasn’t the snake she was afraid of.

The movement had been tiny. She hadn’t meant to do it. The immediate look of shame on her face told him she regretted it. It had just been an instinctual response.

Bog looked down at the hand, or rather _claw,_ he was extending to her.

It was coated red.

He realized with a sickening clarity how he must look to her, hands, feet and _mouth_ dripping with blood.

He suddenly felt sick. He drew back from her.

Marianne made to sit up, she reached out to him.

“Bog, wait I--” she began.

But Bog didn’t wait. He turned and took off into the sky, darting into the dark of the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snake is a king snake by the way. They're non-venomous and come in a ton of sizes.
> 
> This fanfic is something I’d been thinking about since I made a post about Bog never using his claws to fight, despite the fact that they could probably do some serious damage. I started brainstorming it, but then suzie-guru mentioned that she had a fic planned that followed basically the exact same plot line as what I had planned, so I abandoned it. Then thatchickwiththeheadphones made a drawing of again, the same basic idea and I figured I might as well just write the fanfic as a tribute to that drawing and be shown up by Suzie later, rather than abandon it completely.


	2. Chapter 2

_Stupid._ Bog chastised himself.

Stupid stupid _stupid._

He knelt in front of a small, calm stream. He cupped water in his hands and splashed his face. The water felt frigid against his skin, which was hot with shame.

Why had he done that? Why did he have to lose control, in front of Marianne of all people?

The snake would have run off after the first bite, figuring that it was more trouble than it was worth, why _why_ did he let himself get carried away like that?

Why did he let himself get caught up in the sight and smell of blood? The feeling of his prey writhing in terror under his grip, its heartbeat frantic with fear and his own pounding with excitement as he realized he could snuff out its life like a candle—

 _Stop it._ He told himself.

He splashed his face again, trying to dispel the last bit of that red haze, still clinging to the corners of his mind.

It had been so long since he’d fallen into that primal, predatory mode. Why now? What had triggered it?

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been in life threatening situations like that before, even ones that required him to use his claws and teeth to escape, but this had been different.

He’d been afraid for his life, of course. He’d been desperate and in pain but he hadn’t really lost it until…

Until he’d heard Marianne cry out in fear.

A growl tore through his throat at the thought before he could stop it.

Of course. Of course that was what had been different.

Even now just the thought of that thing trying to hurt her made his blood boil. The idea that it made her feel afraid. _Her_. Afraid of anything. It was practically laughable.

He’d heard her scream before, in anger, or surprise, or excitement.  This had been different. Not a scream, but a shrill cry, frightened and desperate.  Just the memory of it was still triggering such a response in him.

His growl melted into a pained moan.

He’d wanted to protect her, to destroy that which had the audacity to truly make her afraid.

He looked at his reflection in the water. His face and hands were still bloody even after his attempts to clean them.

 _Good job, you great fool._ He thought to himself. _Now you’re the thing that made her afraid._

The look of horror in her eyes as she flinched back from him seemed to be burned into the back of his eyelids.

She’d never looked at him like that. Never. Not when he’d kidnapped her sister. Not when he’d tried to kill her. Not when he’d threatened Roland and his army. Not in all the times he’d tried to frighten her.

Instead, it was when he’d so desperately wanted to protect her.

Gods, what must she think of him now?

He swiped angrily at his own reflection, splashing bloody water into the air.

Stupid stupid _stupid._


	3. Chapter 3

“Stupid stupid _stupid.”_ Marianne scolded herself as she flew through the Dark Forest, looking for Bog. It had taken her a moment to gather her wits and collect her sword and Bog’s staff so he had a good head start.

How could she have flinched like that? After Bog had just saved both their lives, how could she have flinched away from him in fear?

She couldn’t get the image of Bog’s face, full of pain and shame, out of her mind. What must he think of her now? After all the times she’d told him he wasn’t a monster, wasn’t hideous, to pull away like he was some disgusting, horrifying thing. She couldn’t imagine how betrayed he must feel. It broke Marianne’s heart.

She hadn’t meant to. It had happened without her permission. 

She’d just never seen him like that.  Even in the most vicious of fights, he never resorted to claws or fangs.  Even against Roland he’d kicked and punched, not bit or scratched.

She’d never truly been afraid of Bog. Not when he crashed the Elves’ dance, not when they’d fought, not all the times he snarled and snapped. None of the times he tried to be frightening.

Even when they’d first met, she could see past the front he put up. She knew that, as much as he played the “evil villain”, it was a show. He played the role of the fearsome Bog King when he needed to. He took pride in striking fear into his enemies and his subjects.  “The Bog King” was flare and flash, terrifying and ruthless, but Marianne saw through all that.

When it was just the two of them, he was just “Bog”, the lonely, kindred spirit that was tender and kind, sweet and unsure.

Marianne loved both of these sides, the loud, ostentatious King, and the shy, soft lover.

But this had been neither of them.

This had not been a show or a role, something designed to be flashy and intimidating. There was no bravado meant to instill fear or awe, just pure, primal fury. Just a predator and its prey.

When she’d watched, it had been like looking at a stranger. And, for a moment, she forgot it was Bog, _her_ Bog. She forgot how those bloodstained claws had held her gently so many nights. Forgot how that vicious mouth had peppered her hair with soft kisses.

She’d looked at him and, for a moment, seen nothing but the horrible goblins of the stories she’d been told as a child, meant to scare children away from going near the border.  A bloodthirsty monster that would tear her wings off and devour her.

Then his face had fallen and he was Bog again, ashamed and heartbroken.

He’d flown off immediately, but she didn’t know what she would have said to him even if he had stayed. She wished she could have told him it was a misunderstanding. That she would never have been afraid of him, but that wasn’t true.

She _had_ been afraid. 

Marianne heard a loud splash nearby. She looked about, scanning the area for Bog until she spotted him at the bank of a small stream.

She landed softly behind him, careful not to make a sound in case he tried to run again.

He was kneeling by the stream and seemed unaware of her presence.

She took a few cautious steps toward him.

“Bog…” she whispered.

Bog started, head shooting up and quickly turning around. As he saw her, his face became panic-stricken and he immediately stood and made to fly again.

Marianne quickly grabbed his arm before he could escape.

“Bog, wait!” She said.

Bog jumped at her touch, spinning on his heel to get her off of him.

“Don’t--!” he began, but immediately cut off as the force of his turn knocked her down onto the ground.

He gasped and reached out as if to help, but instantly drew back his hand with a wince, holding both hands close to his chest.

“I-I didn’t--!” He stammered. “I-I’m…”

Marianne wasn’t hurt from the fall, just surprised. She sat up quickly to see Bog back away from her. He was shaking and seemed unable to tell what he should do. His hands and mouth were dripping with bloody water.

“I…I…” He choked. Then his face crumpled and he fell to his knees. “I’m sorry!” he sobbed.

Marianne’s face went slack with shock.

 _He_ was sorry?

Bog continued to sob, one hand over his face, the other curled into a fist on the ground.

“Aye’m…sorry…” he repeated between sobs.

Marianne was dumbfounded. She had assumed he would be upset with her, betrayed or even angry, but with himself? It didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it had been all her.

Bog clutched at his face with both hands, blood, water, and tears dripping from his face and hands.

“Aye’m s-so sorry…” he cried.

Then Marianne’s heart broke again.

He wasn’t upset with her for being scared, he blamed _himself_ for scaring her.  Even now, he wasn’t dwelling his own pride or insecurity, he was just thinking of her. Of protecting her.

And suddenly, as if a clouded film had been removed from her memory, she saw _her_ Bog in the thing that had nearly killed the snake.

The Bog that snarled and had to be held back when Roland had dusted her, that roared as he held the skull entrance open long enough for her and Dawn to escape. The Bog that would lay down his life for her.  It was a part of him as much as any of the other sides of him she loved so much.

She laid a hand softly on Bog’s knee.

He gasped softly and lowered his hands from his face, eyes wide, tears streaming down his face.

Marianne gently took his hands in hers, looking dead into his eyes, wishing she had the words to explain it, to tell him that she understood. That this was a part of who and what he was and she loved every single part of him, even if it sometimes frightened her, because her love was so much stronger than her fear, so much stronger than years of prejudice and mistrust that had always told them what they had was impossible.

But words failed her.  She had only her actions.

Slowly and deliberately, Marianne raised Bog’s hands to her mouth and softly kissed his bloody fingertips.

 Bog said nothing, only staring at her in a mix of awe and surprise.

She reached up to his face with her now-bloody hands, her lips also reddened with the stuff.

Bog pulled back slightly, hesitant, but Marianne closed the distance between their faces, pulling him into a deep, loving kiss.

Marianne could taste the coppery taste of the snake’s blood, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was him, about showing him how much he meant, how she would love him no matter what, no matter how different they were or how frightening it was. Tears began to flow from her eyes as well.

Bog’s hands hovered near her arms, afraid to hold her for fear of sullying her further, before finally giving in and wrapping one hand around her waist and running the other through her hair, streaking it with blood.

The world would not always be kind and clean, but they had each other, and neither minded getting their hands dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work. Short and rough but whatever.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is something I’d been thinking about since I made a post about Bog never using his claws to fight, despite the fact that they could probably do some serious damage. I started brainstorming it, but then suzie-guru mentioned that she had a fic planned that followed basically the exact same plot line as what I had planned, so I abandoned it. Then thatchickwiththeheadphones made a drawing of again, the same basic idea and I figured I might as well just write the fanfic as a tribute to that drawing and be shown up by Suzie later, rather than abandon it completely.


End file.
